"Now Fleda," said Cynthy, "just you be quiet. There ain't no place where
you can bake 'em. I'm just going to clap 'em in the reflector--that's the
shortest way I can take to do 'em. You keep yourself out o' muss."

"They won't be muffins if you bake 'em in the reflector, Cynthy; they
aren't half so good. Ah, do let me I I won't make a bit of muss."

"Where'll you do 'em?"

"In grandpa's room--if you'll just clean off the top of the stove for
me--now do, Cynthy! I'll do 'em beautifully and you won't have a bit of
trouble.--Come!"

"It'll make an awful smoke, Flidda; you'll fill your grandpa's room with
the smoke, and he won't like that, I guess."

"O he won't mind it," said Fleda. "Will you, grandpa?"

"What, dear?"--said Mr. Ringgan, looking up at her from his paper
with a relaxing face which indeed promised to take nothing amiss that
she might do.

"Will you mind if I fill your room with smoke?"

"No, dear!" said he, the strong heartiness of his acquiescence almost
reaching a laugh,--"No, dear!--fill it with anything you like!"

There was nothing more to be said; and while Fleda in triumph put on an
apron and made her preparations, Cynthy on her part, and with a very good
grace, went to get ready the stove; which being a wood stove, made of